The rhombus shield—a high-end, top-tier Grade-1 defensive artifact—hovered before Sun Yi, effortlessly deflecting the Demon Bear’s heavy paw.

Defense successful. Counter-attack initiated.

With a mental command, a black streak shot from his left sleeve. The “Shadow Needle,” another premium acquisition from the treasury, was designed specifically for stealth kills.

Thwip.

Before the bear’s AI could register the threat, the needle pierced its skull. The beast shattered into digital fragments.

Target eliminated. Energy reserves dropping.

Sun Yi frowned. The Shadow Needle was effective, but its energy consumption was inefficient. It was a gas-guzzler.

He switched tactics. His right hand formed a seal, and the Dragon Roar Sword split into five golden beams. They locked onto five separate targets.

The simulated wolves dodged with pre-programmed agility.

Adaptive AI detected. Switching to Manual Override.

Sun Yi shifted his seal. The five beams abruptly merged into one massive blade of light, executing a hairpin turn mid-air.

Slash.

The lead wolf was bifurcated before it could land.

Sun Yi didn’t pause. He redirected the blade toward the Firebird.

Screech!

The bird spat a fireball, but the golden blade punched through the flames, losing some luminosity but retaining enough momentum to skewer the bird.

Kill confirmed. Kill confirmed.

Sun Yi entered a flow state. He alternated between the shield, the needle, and the sword, micromanaging three artifacts simultaneously. The tide of battle turned.

A Demon Fox tried to flank him—sniped by the needle.

The Demon Ox charged—impaled by three converging sword beams.

The remaining beasts, stripped of their numerical advantage, were cleaned up in seconds.

Simulation Complete.

The virtual environment dissolved. Sun Yi recalled his artifacts, his face pale and covered in sweat.

“Inefficient,” he gasped, checking his internal status. “Less than thirty minutes of runtime, and my battery is critical.”

He grabbed a Top-Grade Spirit Stone and began to drain it aggressively.

Control Room

The three Foundation Establishment managers let out a collective breath they had been holding for an hour.

“He cleared it,” one manager whispered, wiping his forehead. “I thought the RNG on that spawn was unfair, but he actually cleared it.”

“Level 7 Qi Refining facing a squad of near-Level 8 elites,” another noted, shaking his head. “And he dismantled them. The Sect Leader’s combat specs are… anomalous.”

“Of course,” the third said with a grin. “This is the man who created Foundation Establishment cultivators with a single sentence. I bet he goes for Level 80.”

“Easy money,” the first agreed.

Inside the Tower

Sun Yi opened his eyes. The pallor was gone. Thanks to the “Pay-to-Win” mechanics of Top-Grade Spirit Stones, he was back to 100% capacity in minutes.

However, he didn’t queue up for the next level. He sat there, conducting a post-mortem analysis.

Hardware limitations confirmed, he mused. My output is high, but my endurance is terrible. Running three artifacts simultaneously burns through my mana pool too fast. I need that second generator—the extra Dantian.

Also, my CPU is overheating. His Divine Sense was strained to the limit trying to multitask three independent weapon systems. I need to upgrade my RAM. The ‘Split Spirit Technique’ is risky, but it might be the only way to scale my multitasking.

Finally, mobility. I’m a turret. I have no movement techniques. If the shield fails, I’m a sitting duck.

To the managers, his performance was perfect. To Sun Yi, it was a buggy mess of inefficiencies and bottlenecks.

He stood up and looked at the ceiling—directly at the hidden camera.

“Seal the data,” Sun Yi ordered, his voice echoing in the void. “My results are classified. Do not leak them.”

He knew the managers were watching. As the architect of this system, he knew where the backdoors were. He didn’t want the market to know his true specs. In the corporate world, information was leverage, and he preferred to keep his capabilities in a black box. Low profile is king.

“Understood!” The managers’ voices trembled over the intercom. They wouldn’t dare leak the CEO’s personal data.

The Plaza

Sun Yi stepped out of the tower. The sun was bright, and the plaza was packed with disciples who had been camping out for days, waiting for the results.

“Greetings, Sect Leader!”

Thousands bowed.

Sun Yi smiled, waving dismissively. “At ease. Keep grinding.”

He launched into the air, flying back toward the Scripture Library without a word about his score.

The crowd watched him leave, confused.

“Well?” someone asked. “What’s the score?”

“No announcement?”

“Maybe… maybe he didn’t do well?” A disciple whispered. “He was in there for five days. Maybe he got stuck on the lower floors?”

“Impossible!” a loyalist argued. “The Sect Leader is a god!”

“But the managers aren’t talking,” a Foundation Establishment cultivator pointed out. “I asked them, and they turned pale and refused to speak. Usually, high scores are broadcasted to boost morale. Silence… silence implies failure.”

“Ah,” the crowd realized collectively. “He’s saving face.”

“It makes sense,” another nodded sagely. “He rose too fast. His cultivation level is high, but he hasn’t had time to consolidate his combat skills. He probably stalled at Floor 50 or 60. The managers are protecting his reputation.”

“Right, right. We must protect the Sect Leader’s dignity.”

A consensus was reached. The Sect Leader had likely underperformed, and out of respect (and fear), everyone agreed to never speak of it again. The “Low Profile” strategy had worked, though perhaps a bit too well.